


Call Me by Her Name

by danceRain7



Category: Original Work
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-22
Updated: 2020-10-22
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:00:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27145595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/danceRain7/pseuds/danceRain7
Summary: Vanessa falls for Chiara but cannot bring herself to say so.Inspired by Call Me By Your Name. The character "Chiara" in my piece is not the same as in the book/movie.





	Call Me by Her Name

Ch. 1 

Rarely do people remember exactly how a story starts. This one starts with geese shitting. 

I was walking alongside the lake when I stepped in the feces of the season. It was the part of September that wasn't fall but wasn't summer. I needed to get to class in fifteen minutes but I hadn't yet eaten my peanut butter and jelly sandwich from the café. I sat down on a bench facing the water and opened the cardboard box.

I ate with my right hand and took out my phone with my left. I typed up half of some B.S. poem about the glistening water before me before deciding to eat the other bit of the sandwich later.

Some things are better left unfinished.

Ch. 2

It's why I write short chapters. It's why forbidden romances and tragedies live on in our hearts. It's why you thank your past self for leftovers that you eat for lunch the next day. Some things are better left unfinished. 

This essay needed finishing though. Professors didn't hesitate to assign a ten-page paper to their college seniors in the first week. Even if it were just a draft, you can't fully bullshit ten pages. 

After class I sat in the quad. I took off my hat and let the breeze rustle my brain cells.

I saw a few girls settle by the oak tree. One looked like a model from the 80s. She shook her head to get her bangs out of her face and threw her sandwich on the ground. How disgraceful. 

Her shaggy pixie cut was kind of cute, though. 

Ch. 3

It was her again! Sandwich girl. She strolled into literature class late with her gum and jean jacket. She looked like a walking instagram post. One with a filter on that enhanced the tans and pinks while making pastel blues and greens. Her blush was unreal and matched her red lipstick, which made a smudge on her Starbucks cup next to her scribbled name: Chiara.

She was so much to observe that I didn't plan on talking to her. People come to college to gain an education, to be humbled. Meanwhile, people like her roam like they own the place. What could you possibly get from being so pretentious?

To my surprise, she stayed silent for a majority of the class discussion. Only when someone spoke of faith as a key motivator for good (it was a Catholic school, after all) did she stop chewing her gum.

"As an atheist, I humbly disagree. Yes, doing good is often selfish, but it's not always religious."

Can't judge a book by its cover, I guess. 

Ch. 4

A couple of days later, I noticed she was reading Call Me By Your Name. 

"Gutsy for Catholic school." My sentence fragment tarnished my attempt at a casual first impression. She stared at me like some bemused fairy as I tried to save face. "Of course, it's a great choice." Her bold eyeliner threatened to stab my soul slightly less. 

"It's beautiful." She looked back down at her book with no intention of looking back up before continuing, "And heartbreaking. You're Vanessa, right?"

"Yeah. Good to meet you." I headed to my seat in the back before encouraging her lack of eye contact any further. Basic human decency shouldn't be so hard to come by. 

Yet it's always the mean ones that mesmerize me. 

I suppose I can't call her a dick. All genders are mean. I'm not a big animal person but I don't like people very much either, aside from unfortunate, biological infatuation. 

I sometimes wonder why I adore the same sex. I feel that is the default for me to be with someone familiar. I feel if I were a man, I would love men so much. I do like men. I like their voices and gentle, square hands. 

But women too have voices and hands and scents and planes and curves and softness and wetness and redness… 

Ch. 5

I wouldn't mind if Chiara filled my cheeks with the color of her lipstick. It would match the maples lined up in the parking lot. 

"We fell in love in October…"

This is always how it happens, though. I dread it. Growing fond of someone. Crushes are fun, sure, but it's so fast and fake! It makes me lose trust in my gut, without which I have nothing. 

There wasn't time to think about that, though. I had to focus on not puckering my lip or leaning in for a kiss as Chiara sat down next to me. 

"Now this is a midterm study session done right!" She admired my spread of Cheetos and Kit-Kats next to the textbooks spread out on the lawn. It was late afternoon, so we could sit at the edge of the oak tree's shadow to get the benefit of shade and cool breeze while optimizing the reading sunlight.

Not that I was reading. She had a pixie cut, for God's sakes! I'm unsure why that didn't comfort me more. People weren't going to walk around with rainbow bracelets around here, anyway. 

I loved how her mascara would make her lashes look like angled fakes when she looked down to read. Her bangs weren't bothering her for once, thanks to the wind sweeping them in the right direction at the perfect cadence. 

I didn't have much to lose. She was an acquaintance of about one month. But how much could I focus on dating with midterms breathing down my neck? 

Ch. 6

I prayed she didn't notice my eyes widen as I saw her rainbow sneakers. I looked up to meet her eyes. "A! 95. A. Take that, midterm."

She was so ecstatic that I forgot to tell her about my 98. 

Ch 7. 

I was at my dorm when she texted me. "Come outside." 

I was a senior who didn't care to live in the apartments. Why would I leave my room for some silly, suburban night life on a Wednesday? 

For a pretty girl, of course. 

I threw a Men's XL sweater on top of a collared shirt and khakis and hopped down the stairs. The crisp air had nothing on her. She looked like she was going to prom in her long, red dress and gelled hair. 

I was damn lucky it was dark out. I melted. My mouth was probably open. 

Silences were comfortable between us, though, for I was introverted and she was dramatic. "I found salsa lessons downtown!"

We hopped in my car-- for God knows what kind of driver Chiara may be-- and parked in front of the vintage lighting at Esteban's. 

We each paid five dollars apiece and got into a circle with the group of about ten others. 

The dance teacher jumped around with the energy I should put into my entire semester. We were told to alternate partners every twenty-four beats. 

It took 216 long beats to reach my new obsession, but in compensation, the teacher gave us a timely reminder to not be shy. I settled my hand deeper into Chiara's silky waist. She smiled, stroked my face and almost brushed her lips against my cheek as she turned to her next partner. 

We went back to campus. I came back to a silent dorm. My heart raced as my imagination filled in the gaps between snapshots of this evening. 

I started assessing how much I liked her in a panic. I may have been turned on, but I wanted to do nothing more than gently kiss and comfort my pillow. 

My heart sank as I realized I actually wanted a relationship with a woman. I would have to come out. 

Ch. 8

I already dressed gay. It couldn't be so bad. 

But until now my gayness had been an inner quirk, something that would make me smug whenever someone said something sexist.

Now it seemed I actually had to face consequences. Defend my choices to people who I wanted little to do with. A nightmare for my conflict-avoidant ass. 

It was a Saturday and I had to stop drowning in my own thoughts, so I challenged myself to be turned on by a guy. I pulled out my Pinterest boards of Conan Gray and Timothee Chalamet (as guys on Pornhub are just gross). 

I was afraid my roommate would come back any minute so I sat on the toilet and turned the fan on. I had just given my Conan-Timothee lovechild a lap dance and now he wanted nothing more than me, just me, raw me, soft me, slowly, tracing everything, lingering, entering, slowly picking up. My two fingers slid in and out perpendicularly… nail! Ow.

I was always scared that my nail would scratch my hymen, that I'd see blood that my Indian mother would judge me by, even though I was the studious mascot of virginity. 

Obviously, seeing red wouldn't be terrible. So many things cause red. Red wasn't bad. Red leaves, red blush, red dress, red lips… 

I put my fingers back in, but I put Conan-Timothee aside and let Chiara embrace me from behind, one hand brushing pleasure in the front, and the other hand curling into me where the perpendicular used to be. 

I think only women can make me arch that way. 

Ch. 9

I thought writing this would be cathartic, but it's clearly just reinforcing my admiration of women, of her. 

Ironically, it may have been her boyish charm that I liked. She'd wear those striped sweaters. I'd romance her like some skater boy with a guitar and a long neck. 

"The best time to wear a striped sweater… is all the time…"

Her androgyny was attractive. She'd be a different flavor every day, with persisting hints of sweet and spicy. I dipped my chicken nugget in the sweet and sour sauce, sure to get a good amount of harmonious flavors as if I were getting a good amount of her. The sauce was red with redder flakes. So many beautiful things were red, deeper reds than I remembered. I knew what fall looks like but it really took my breath away nowadays. It was like the trees were bleeding more and more furiously until they were celebrating their death.

The morning sun was more of an orange, though. Like red tainted with a temporary promise of new light. 

I knew of the sun because I had woken up early to fetch Chiara some soup before class as she was unwell. I returned with corn soup from the Lucky Wok with a few extra packets of sweet and hot sauce in the bag.

She eventually opened the door. Her eyes looked bigger without eyeliner. Rounded and adorable. 

"Thanks." Her nasal tone still had a flair of sass. "Come in if you want."

She tucked the ends of her cardigan in her armpits and settled under the covers on her sofa.

"Why don't you sleep in bed?"

"I can barely walk ten steps. I need to be near the kitchen."

"Well, I'm here now. You really should lay in bed."

She gave me a look of annoyed gratitude that a pre-teen gives their mother before heading to her bedroom. 

I followed her in and was struck by the blast of red outside her window. More maples. Then, a vivid image of period sex with her flashed before me. I sighed and tried to think like a gay man. Sweet men. Tall, thin, calm. Sculpted, serene bodies. 

I had been staring out the window for a few minutes. Chiara would have given a sassy remark by now if she weren't so sick. 

Instead she was in a cocoon of covers. Seeing that independent soul in this state was cute yet heartbreaking. I came around to the other side of the bed and cuddled her from behind. This was allowed. 

I refrained from cheesy dialogue about how she needed a hug. I felt us both relax a little. This fierce, human being was but a fragile figure in my arms. Funny how the world can get so small and close. 

Ch. 10

It was too cold to study outside now. Sometimes we'd go to the library but we often tired of the underclassmen's social hour. Since the same problem would persist in the dorm common areas, we would usually end up studying in Chiara's apartment. Deadlines and exam dates piled up as Thanksgiving approached. 

The heating was dysfunctional until winter was in full force, so we huddled up in Chiara's bed among textbooks and blankets. At one point, Chiara laid her head on my lap. I tensed up. 

"What? My neck was tired."

I didn't understand this girl. She was flirty and could pull anything off, so we hadn't even spoken of our sexualities despite our cozy encounters. 

Granted, I'd hate if it were some big declaration. I could barely put my preferences in words to myself. Overall I'm bisexual, perhaps pansexual, but using a label immediately triggers an avalanche of internalized biphobia. I feel guilty for questioning things, even though questioning is good and is a label in and of itself. 

Moreover, I'm scared of myself in the long term. I hate my sexual fluidity. One day I feel gay and the next day I feel straight. Or worse, in the morning I am a heteroromantic homosexual and by that same night I am a homoromantic heterosexual. 

Who could I possibly end up with long term if there is some animalistic monster inside me that could change its mind at any moment?

Then again, it couldn't be bad to admire Chiara's green eyes as they swept along the pages of the textbook. 

Ch. 11

I came to her room to help her pack before Thanksgiving. It was only five days, but she called me over as she was offended that I avoided her during exam week.

I needed to focus. In September, I would've jumped at every opportunity to see her, but I was feeling for her more deeply and wanted to put off the identity crisis and coming out crisis until at least winter break. 

She left to get her third cup of coffee. Her pajama pants went into her butt more than intended when she got up. She was either clueless or shameless, but I choked on a staggered breath as my vagina clenched and moistened. 

"Hey, I'll be right back. I'm out of sugar," she announced from the kitchen.

"Okay." I sighed of relief as I let the red flow back to my face. I was discreetly playing with my nipples as I heard the apartment door close. I let one hand slide to the outside of my pants, but then something overtook me. It was like a dam broke, and all of the feelings I had silenced came back with a vengeance. 

I went to her closet and found a bra and panty in her dirty laundry. I put both at the head of the bed and moved a pillow to my crotch as I kissed the remnants of her. She naturally smelled of flowers and musk. I grinded on the pillow as I imagined how the bra would hug her curves, and how her panty would let curves through. 

How could the skin on someone so feisty be so soft? I imagined her waxed arms extending as her fingertips squeezed my ass, challenging me. 

I wish I had a strap-on. I wish I could pummel the pillow under me like I would Chiara, make her scream for plastic instead of the real thing. I settled for bringing a hand down and moving my fingers haphazardly as I helplessly dry humped the pillow. 

The door opened and I flipped onto my back, throwing her undergarments to the ground. She was messy anyway. The violated pillow was on my abdomen; I put my microbiology book on top and continued reading. 

Ch. 12

The first day we were back on campus, she gave me a hug from behind. I was startled, not because she may have been a stranger, but because she never did this. She stayed there for 30 seconds, at least.

"Hey, you okay?"

She nodded into my shoulder.

Ch. 13

She was so out of his league. What did she see in him? Even two dates was too much with that guy. 

Moreover, there was no way she was clueless about my admiration of her. 

There came a fountain in between us as we walked, and then, just as Elio did in Call me by Your Name, I put my pride aside and let my "secret" slip. 

"Chiara, I admire you."

I left it at that, but I knew the enigma wouldn't last long. She opened her crimson lips as if to say something frank, but instead the golden pre-sunset illuminated the hazel within her green, pondering eyes and the baby hairs on the curves of her chest above the broad neckline of her red dress. Her clavicles and shoulders looked etched, like some piece of artwork not a part of this world, but rather of the imagination. 

Her silence told me she understood, but of course, she basked in the demand for her attention as she moved the growing, now caramel side-bang behind her ear. 

"And?"

"And I thought you should know." I was too cowardly to ask her to do all of the things I had so far pictured. It was much more than just "going out" now. 

I wish I could run away from it all. The rejection from her, the judgement by strangers. It brought me to tears to think how excited I was getting lately whenever I was attracted to a man. Soothing voices, sweaters, large hands. Men weren't less manipulative, though. Everyone is mad selfish.

Just like this cruel, beautiful princess. "Why do you want me to know?"

Was that the best she could come up with? Yet, she'd accomplished revealing little and provoking a lot. 

By now the fountain was long gone, and I did a spin and stopped in front of her so she couldn't progress forwards. I breathed on her exposed shoulder as I couldn't look her in the eye. Wasn't sure if I needed to slow my breathing or swallow more. 

"Chiara," I whispered with a voice crack. I looked up and away for a moment to gain my bearings. "I want to be with you. I... adore you." 

I'm sure she thought of rebounding in sarcasm, but she instead acknowledged my point with a "hmm."

She stayed silent. She had once told me in sociology that she had a homophobic family. I figured I shouldn't have expected much aside from perhaps ruining our friendship. 

We got to the door of her apartment. "Chiara, I'm sorry, please forget this. I would really like to stay friends. You mean too much to me to--"

She held my hands and just stood there. It was scary to see Chiara not talk. 

Finally, she said, "Come. Be with me."

She brought me inside, and ran the back of her hand along my cheek and into my hair before kissing me softly, and then with tongue. 

My hands glided to her waist, and hers to my shoulder and chest. We slowed down near the sofa but eventually stepped our way to her bedroom. 

I started with her neck. It was already exposed as you've noted by now. I was gentle and didn't suck, but I made sure to paint the surface with the lipstick she'd left on my lips. Only after sliding her sleeves down did I find that she wore no bra. The red fabric momentarily hung onto her breasts until I pulled it away and down. She smelled like musky roses. I traced her areolas and nipples with my thumb. I think she shuddered in pleasure, but it was also cold. 

She hadn't forgotten about me. She'd unbuttoned my shirt and had actually been reaching down my pants and failing because of my belt. I helped get it off, while she helped me by sliding the rest of her dress off, along with her panties. 

I sat her down and then kissed her until she laid on the bed. I was impatient and only traced the triangle of her privates with my fingers briefly before rubbing her in upward strokes. 

I kissed speedily down her belly and began to kiss and lick below. I came back to suck her mouth to give her a literal taste-- just a sliver-- of all of my hopes and dreams, dirty and otherwise. 

She took care of me too, but I'd rather not relive that. 

Ch. 14

She was gone. New semester, new year, new school. 

The reasons were beyond me. Perhaps she dropped a hint to her parents who didn't take it well. Or perhaps she was scared of her own tendencies. 

Consummating love is such a dumb concept!! Was I just some band-aid to rip? Or perhaps some rant of hers that needed catharsis?

I don't know when she'll take my calls or texts, if ever. It sickens me how easy it is to trust people. I thought I meant at least something to her. 

Ch. 15

A mailed invitation to her wedding. 

No phone, nothing. It had only been a couple months after graduation, but then again, Chiara was one to live life like a game. 

I felt stronger now, though. Like all hope had been severed so I could finally silence the naive child in me that was still willing to love her at the slightest calling.

I went to her coffee shop as a sort of closure ritual. After graduation it had gotten awfully empty. 

"Name?" The lady asked. 

"Chiara," I said. "C-h-i-…"


End file.
